


Wrath of the ocean

by FakeCirilla9



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Daddy Issues, Family Drama, First Kinslaying (Tolkien), Flight of the Noldor, M/M, Mommy Issues, Poor Life Choices, The Noldor, They're all assholes, Which of course leaves out relatives like half-brothers, White Ships, as it goes with the Noldor:, but love each other in nearest family circles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 11:56:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20656850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FakeCirilla9/pseuds/FakeCirilla9
Summary: After the First Kinslaying Uinen and Ossë are displeased with the Noldor, especially with one of them.





	Wrath of the ocean

The stormy waves started soon after they figured out how to row in accord. Manwë’s wind has died long ago. No one expected it to blow from the west, but maybe at least to try stop them. Yet Manwë was ignoring them. Not so his Ainur sea brothers.

The waters got rough despite a windless weather. The tides hit the ships’ bodies vehemently, the white desks groaned in spite of their solid construction. Noldor builders ogled them anxiously, whenever the deck emerged from another mass of water rolling over it repeatedly.

One of the white ships cracked under the force of nature, caved in, and did not appear again after another wave covered it.

“We need to turn back!” Fingolfin shouted almost right in Fëanor’s ear to be heard over the roar of the ocean. “Dock in some bay and wait it off!”

Everyone was soaked through. Black hair clung to pale faces.

“Never!” Fëanor shouted back.

He was the only one with fire of wrath still blazing in his eyes.

Nearly at the same moment he was swept off the deck by a great wave. Amrod rushed to the starboard, ready to jump to the rescue, but was stopped by Celegorm’s hand wrapping around his waist.

“Let go! It’s father!”

“You won’t help him that way!” called Celegorm, outshouting the roar of waves.

In the meantime Fëanor tossed into the depths of the sea couldn’t even scream, when a splash of water filled his mouth, silencing him effectively. He fought, he wrestled with the power pulling him into the deep of the ocean. He kicked and flailed his hands. No, no, not like that he was supposed to die. Not in the water. Not like a snuffed out by a flood flame.

He fought long despite the hopelessness of his situation - not that the lack of reasonable chances for a success ever stopped him. But even the best among the Noldor at end begun to tire. And that was when he was lifted up by hands that brought his mother’s touch to memory. Like Míriel from his misty recalls taking him up from the cot. She had hair silver like the ocean’s foam. She was sad like his mother, though he couldn’t tell if water on her face was tears or droplets from the sea.

“Mom?”

“I’m not her,” the voice was cold like ocean’s depths, “she’s dead. And maybe it is for the better that she didn’t live to see her son fall.”

From the way she carried him so effortlessly and from how the ocean’s currents seemed to calm in her wake, Fëanor recognized his saviour for an Ainu. Angry at himself for the moment of weakness, he struggled in her grip, but she subdued him so easily as if he was a fish trying to get out of net.

“I did not ask you for help! Let me go! I will not allow you to bring me back to Valar cage.”

“I do not intend to help you nor to return you from your chosen direction, son of Finwë.”

“Then what do you want? To kill me?”

“That I cannot do. To not hinder your flight – that was commanded to me. Not through death nor through any physical barrier.”

She turned her steps to the south, from where they had set off, until they reached the beach of Teleri. There Uinen put the elf down onto the sand still red from blood.

“Do you see what you’ve done?”

“They refused me, they got in my way in my quest of vengeance.”

“So you stole the fairest creation of their hands. You’re turning into the one you’re chasing.”

“Do not compare me to him! He killed my father, and they begrudged me their help in my noble duty. Cowards.”

“And how many sons lost their fathers from your hand this day? You hold no pity for those who you think beneath you. But you’ve spilled innocent blood. Where is the nobility in that, child of Noldor?”

Fëanor wasn’t repentant in the slightest. He stood proud and high at the beach he washed in blood of his kin. The only anger he felt was directed at the being of power before him that dared to meddle with his plans.

“I can see right through you. You strive to return me from my chosen path. But it is for nothing. My intentions are not so easily moved.”

“I can’t and don’t want to do that. It will not bring them back their lives. I want you to realize what you’ve done. I loved them. I sung them from their births to the nuptials. And then another pair that I had blessed would bring a new life and I would sing lullabies to it. And you’ve destroyed it with a few angered words and slashes of your sharp swords.”

“And you’ve sunk at least one of my ships, even though my misdemeanors weren’t committed against you directly. You avenged not your harm. And yet you put yourself higher than me.”

“She has not sunk the ships, which for the record aren’t yours.”

They both turned at the voice wrathful like the murmuring of a storm waves.

“So he’s the one responsible for all that?” Eyes dangerous like a hurricane pierced Fëanor like a harpoon, though the question was directed at Uinen.

Fëanor met Ossë’s gaze head on; the steel of the Noldo’s eyes was hard like swords forged by him.

Uinen confirmed her husband’s conjectures via ósanwe.

Ossë took a swing at Fëanor, but Uinen stopped his rightful wrath.

“No! What are you doing? We cannot! The Prophecy of Mandos, even Ulmo doesn’t-”

“Ulmo is too soft on them. He would forgive everyone ceaselessly. Same goes for Aulë, whose this, as well as all the rest of the Noldor, is a toy of. If they kept them in line, there would be less troubles.”

“Or if you didn’t keep us here against our will, there would be no problems at all!” Fëanor put in.

Ossë looked at the insolent elf for a moment of absolute silence, a silence that only exists inside the eye of a cyclone. And then the whirl of madness seized the elf, as Ossë’s hands encircled the lithe frame of the Eldar. Ossë threw him against the rocks, where the sand of the beach gave way before more stony ground that climbed up the slopes of Pelóri Mountains.

Fëanor couldn’t even scream, as his breath was forced out of his lungs by the power of the blow. A knife made from shell honed to razor sharpness cut easily through his clothes and soon the elf laid naked, yet still not covering before the sea Maia. The grip of Ossë was overpowering, like waters pressing from each and every side.

“You think, Noldo, that your little rebellion matters? That you’re doing what is your right? That you’ll achieve anything with it?”

“I will not stay idle like your lot, doing nothing sans wallowing in self-pity!” cried Fëanor, struggling to get up, but the arms of Ossë would not let him. “I will defeat Morgoth myself, if his brother is not keen on doing that!”

“You think yourself equal to gods, yet you’re only a miserable carnal being, whose spirit can’t even leave this shell without dying!”

Ossë pried open flying legs in one movement.

“No!” called Uinen, but the other Maia did not heed her.

Fëanor’s cry spooked the gulls that had hid in crevices of the rocks, when Ossë tore into his being. The Maia assaulted him like wave after wave beating the shore, till chunks of land tore of and sunk into water, shaping the shoreline anew.

“You're no one,” gasped Ossë. “No match for the power of any Ainu, even the lesser among us, and you think you can stand up against Melkor all by yourself.”

Fëanor, though shaking with pain at the violation, bared his teeth in a snarl.

“You’re just like them. Still have a soft spot for him, no matter what your lying mouth claim. I named him Morgoth, Black Foe of the World and that is his true identity. Yet you all still wish to see him as your king. Who Arises In Might,” Fëanor laughed, but it was a laugh devoid of joy, and fey. It was a howl of pain and madness.

After he was done, Ossë send him back more or less in the direction of the white fleet, not bothering to give him any clothes. Salt water stung at the fresh wounds, but at least it washed away the blood. The lack of garments he could explain by wet clothes dragging him under the surface, deliberated Fëanor, clinging to the drifting wood from the crashed ship and swimming in the direction of the nearest white boat.

A rope landed next to him and he grabbed it and let himself be hauled up to the ship. His frustration grew as above the portside Fingolfin’s concerned face appeared. Fëanor pushed away the offered hand and crawled on the deck by himself. He retched some water, deliberately spitting a tip of Fingolfin’s boot.

Fëanor looked around with gaze blazing mad, causing a few elves to turn away their curious glances from his naked silhouette.

“Don’t you have any coat here?!” demanded Fëanor of no one in particular, vexed that they not think of it themselves.

Fingolfin took off his own cloak and wrapped it around his brother’s shoulders.

Fëanor flinched at the touch.

“I apologise,” Fingolfin said. “It is wet but so are all of our clothes.”

Curufin made his way toward his father and his uncle, his own coat in hand.

“Here, take this,” he said, “you look terrible in blue.”

Fëanor grinned and draped the heirloom red, adorned with an eight-pointed star, around himself, covering all the similarity between him and his half-brother.

* * *

“You should not have done this,” pointed out Uinen.

„Technically I didn’t disobey the command.”

“An elf will die if taken against his will.”

“This one will not. And even if – not such a great loss. I will gladly face the punishment for this for now at least his blood joined those that he had spilled here.”


End file.
